


Whammied

by crzy_wrtr10



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Excessive Drool, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Surgery, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crzy_wrtr10/pseuds/crzy_wrtr10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctors make the worst patients. Len is no exception. </p>
<p>And who needs wisdom teeth and tonsils, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whammied

**Author's Note:**

> Basically just an excuse to whump the shit outta Bones, and have Jim give him so much needed comfort. (This fic can also be found on my livejournal, in case it looks a little familiar to those who are used to wandering through the Kirk/McCoy communities.)
> 
> Not beta'd; point and chuckle at any mistakes.

Len should have seen it coming. The last time his voice had cracked outside the bedroom had been when he’d entered puberty.

It had cracked when he’d talked to Chapel about restocking at the next starbase, and done the same again when he’d gone off shift and handed sickbay over to M’Benga. Geoff had looked at him oddly. 

“Just sore,” Len growled, a flush creeping up his neck.

Geoff put his hands up and took the PADDs he was being offered. Len stalked out of sickbay toward the mess, figuring a big bowl of pecan ice cream would soothe the rawness in his throat.

The pecans were a little scratchy going down, and he finally began picking them out. That was how Jim found him when he came for dinner. 

“Hey, Bones.” Jim dug into his pasta.

Len grunted, sucking a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. 

“Throat hurt again?” Jim didn’t flinch as Len’s glare went up a few degrees. “Not my fault you go that God-awful head cold on Veo-Ren, got that old Earth kid-thing called strep throat, followed by Mrevian Flu, and a bout of what M’Benga called ‘old fashioned laryngitis.’ All in a row.”

Len’s scowled could have peeled paint. 

“And you haven’t said anything so far, which means your throat’s probably raw.” Jim took another bite of pasta and swallowed. “Why don’t you have M’Benga run some tests.”

“Damn it, Jim,” Len said, voice breaking on Jim’s name.

Jim’s eyebrows rose in an irritatingly familiar way. 

“Fine.” 

Jim knew Len had to be hurting to give in that quick. He took care of their plates (his plate, Len’s bowl) and went back to sickbay. Geoff looked at them oddly as Len climbed onto a biobed with little fanfare, much to Jim and Geoff’s shock. 

_He’s got to be in pain._ Jim pulled over a chair and parked it while Geoff did his thing. He checked the results, and then double-checked them. 

“What?” Len’s voice cracked; Jim flinched at the awful sound. 

“Your tonsils are so inflamed I’m amazed you can still speak.” Geoff set the tricorder on the biobed and felt along Len’s jaw and upper throat. “It’s also telling me your wisdom teeth need to come out.”

Len’s eyes narrowed. 

“All four.” He withdrew his hands before Len could swat at him. “The tonsils need to come out, the sooner, the better, but we can wait a few more weeks on the wisdom teeth, if you want to.”

_Do them together,_ Jim thought. He’d had his wisdom teeth out – the bottom ones – since they hadn’t had room to come in properly. _Do them together._

Len rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Do it. All of it.” He winced.

“Okay. We’ll prep you in a few minutes.” Geoff looked between Jim and Len. “We’ll take care of this.”

Jim watched Geoff draw the privacy curtain and then looked at Len. “You okay?”

“I’m thirty years old and I need my tonsils and wisdom teeth out?” Len kept his voice low. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“You’ll do fine.” Jim laced his fingers with Len’s and squeezed. “And afterward you get good drugs and lots of ice cream.” He smiled. “Chocolate, too.” He knew Len had a soft spot for chocolate ice cream. Had a soft spot for Jim’s abs, too, but that was besides the point. 

Len knew, as a doctor, this wasn’t what would be considered major surgery. It was still surgery, though. There would be recovery time, and soft foods – ice cream – for quite a while. He gave Jim’s fingers a squeeze and Jim leaned in to kiss his jaw. 

Chapel shuffled her feet loudly beyond the curtain before pulling it open. She carried a pair of scrubs and the equipment for an old-fashioned IV. “Excuse me, Captain, I need to get Len ready for surgery.”

Two sets of eyebrows crawled.

“He’s ‘Captain’ and I’m Len?” Even _he_ winced at his own dual-tone.

“He _is_ the Captain, and you’re a patient at the moment, not the CMO. Hence, Len.” She turned her back as Len changed into the scrubs. Once he was back on the biobed, she established the IV. “We’ll be coming back for you.”

He gave a sigh that said quite plainly, _I’ll be here._

“You’ll be fine.” Jim gave him another kiss before Chapel came back. Len was transferred to a hovergurney. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

 

In what seemed like the time it took for Jim to go to the bathroom and come back, Len had returned and was reclining fairly upright on the biobed; Chapel was tucking a towel into the front of his scrub top. “He should be awake in a few minutes.”

Jim pulled his chair closer. Len’s mouth hung slightly open, and he resembled a chipmunk with a mouthful he was so swollen. And drooling. Jim had forgotten how much he himself had drooled. Hence the towel.

There was some rustling; Jim looked over to see Len’s eyes blink sluggishly open. Normally vibrant hazel was dull and glazed. Jim concluded Len was most likely drugged to his eyeballs. And on the good shit, too. 

“Hey,” Jim said softly, scooting his chair closer yet so he could card his fingers through Len’s bangs, pushing them away from his eyes. Len worked his jaw; Jim lifted the corner of the towel tucked into his front to wipe away the drool clinging to this corner of his chin. “I should probably let M’Benga know you’re awake…”

“No need, Captain. I’m right here.” Geoff smiled, stepping to the other side of the bed and verifying the data coming from the biobed sensors. He looked at his patient. “You came through both surgeries great. I want you on nothing but incredibly soft foods – puddings, Jell-O, ice cream – and liquids. I’ll have Christine bring you some ice chips to start with, since the anesthesia probably made you a little nauseous. The best thing you can do is to rest, Leonard, including your voice. So no speaking, yet.”

Len’s patented _no shit_ look was a little diminished, but there all the same. Geoff ignored it, as did Jim, who settled in to wait for the ice chips, fingers tracing random patterns on the back of Len’s hand as it rested by his side. Christine arrived with the ice chips, promptly handed them off to Jim with a smirk, and gave Len a pat on the arm on her way back out, drawing the privacy curtain. Jim stood by the bed, ice chips in hand, and looked down at an obviously miserable Len. 

“You feel up for some of these?” 

Len blinked twice. Jim was a little confused.

“That a yes?”

Len’s hand flailed for Jim’s, finger-tracing _yes_ onto Jim’s palm with a shaky thumb. 

Jim was quite sure that Len had, on numerous occasions, fed him ice chips post-surgery while Jim was drugged to the gills and barely coherent. This was Jim’s first time, the role reversal so potent and wrong in ways that Jim couldn’t explain, that it tightened something in his chest. Len looked up at him, trusting and glazed, and the thing in Jim’s chest constricted again. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of Len’s mouth before sliding over his ear, mindful of his jaw, to whisper, “You know I love you, right?”

The corners of Len’s mouth twitched, fingers tangling in as much of Jim’s sleeve as he could reach without moving. Jim could read enough of Len’s body language to know there was a silent but tangible _Love you too, Jim_ floated his way. 

They managed half the ice before Len yawned, wincing. Jim set the cup down and then brushed Len’s bangs off his forehead again, noting the skin was warm. Not enough to be concerned with, but warmer than Len usually was. Hazel eyes fluttered again, slipping closed as Jim settled again in his chair, tracing engine schematics over the back of Len’s hand. 

 

Starship captains weren’t really supposed to take a day off. Then again, Jim had never been conventional. Which was why he’d taken the day after Len was released from his own Sickbay two days after his dual surgeries, mostly because of his slight fever (it had happened toward the evening, or what passed for it, on a starship) and decided that the cartography department could use a little more time to map out this section of the quadrant, in case there was something anyone might have previously missed, and figured Spock could hold down the fort. And it was as good a chance as any for Jim to get caught up on reading some back reports that had filtered in from Engineering (concerning their latest “accident”) and the Science Department. 

He sat with his back to the wall at the head of the bed, Len situated with his back to Jim’s front between Jim’s legs, one hand holding a PADD and the other under the flannel button-down, palm flat against Len’s abs. Len had found a comfortable spot for his head, face turned toward Jim’s neck, that didn’t put pressure on his cheeks, and was still sleeping after his latest round of hypos – a painkiller/fever reducer and a vitamin supplement, since M’Benga hadn’t liked some of the readings from his latest scan. Which made sense, due to the fact that Len wasn’t one to eat when he didn’t feel well. Considering he couldn’t have anything remotely solid, he was a little cranky. That coupled with pain and the fact that he wasn’t supposed to speak yet in order to not aggravate his throat, made for one not-so-happy camper.

Truthfully, Len was downright miserable. And he’d been that way since the middle of his second day on a biobed in Sickbay. 

Which was one more reason that Jim was taking the time to sit with him, read to him, watch vids with him, and rub his belly when it tried to throw up the nutrient-boosted strawberry smoothies M’Benga insist he drink for meals. Chocolate ice cream was much better accepted, but Geoff couldn’t doctor it the way that Len needed it, and since he wasn’t getting any vegetables or solids, he was a little deficient. Jim had tried one of the smoothies, and while it wasn’t bad, it wasn’t something he’d want to eat three times a day in place of pasta or a steak. 

Len shifted a bit; Jim kissed the thick hair inches from his chin and his hand started big, warm circles on Len’s clenching stomach. A wet patch was growing on Jim’s collar, and he belatedly realized he’d missed covering a spot with the towel tucked into Len’s front. Oh. Well. It was just drool, and Jim wasn’t afraid of some bodily fluid, especially if it meant that it was on his shirt rather than running down the back of Len’s throat to churn in his already shaky stomach. Jim was fine with that. 

Len tried to burrow further into the warmth of Jim’s body, and Jim knew he was awake when his hands fumbled into his lap, one sliding up to hook his fingers with Jim’s. 

“Hi, Bones,” Jim said softly into the dark hair, nuzzling the top of Len’s head with his chin. There was more shifting and burrowing, Len turned onto one side and wrapped his free arm around Jim’s middle as best he could. “You hungry?”

Shoulders hunched up defensively. Jim squeezed Len’s fingers, assurance that he wouldn’t make him eat that horrid smoothie. Least not at that moment.

Len freed his other hand and wrapped it around Jim like he was trying to hug him, going boneless against Jim once more. He was still awake, though – Jim could tell from the minute way that his head moved every so often. 

“Do you want me to read to you?”

_P-L-S_ was finger-traced into the small of his back, and it took a little fumbling for Jim to get what he wanted up on the PADD with only one hand. He had to lean it on Len’s shoulder for a moment to get his glasses, and he cleared his throat when he was ready. Jim wrapped both legs around Len’s, caging him with his body. 

“Never give all the heart, for love will hardly seem worth thinking,” Jim began, reading _Never Give All the Heart_ by Yeats. His fingers crept up the back of the flannel shirt again, stroking over the smooth skin of Len’s spine and lower back. 

Len, from his position against Jim’s chest, figured there could be worse ways to spend time so miserable. And didn’t he have more drugs coming soon? 

**End**


End file.
